


spare me a glance (i'll make it worth your while)

by antikytheras



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Genyatta Week 2018, M/M, Misunderstandings, Valentine's Day, gratuitous use of the word husband, side mchanzo and pharmercy, so established they're MARRIED
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 05:11:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13710546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antikytheras/pseuds/antikytheras
Summary: Overwatch has always demanded more from Genji than he’s ever been entirely willing to give, but he never thought he’d see the day it would take his husband’s attention from him too.or, alternatively:Genji has a very, very, very bad day.





	spare me a glance (i'll make it worth your while)

**Author's Note:**

> commission for greatsenpai! ([twitter](https://twitter.com/greatsenpai)/[tumblr](http://younggenji.tumblr.com/))
> 
> some quick updates: i'm recovering from an 8h operation, which is why i haven't been writing my daily genyatta. yes i will be writing more daily genyatta. yes i will be participating in genyatta week. yes i have commissions open.
> 
> that's all. enjoy!

Genji’s tired.

Three infiltration missions, back-to-back, will run even a cybernetically augmented body into the ground. On mission number one, the addictive thrum of battle-adrenaline still surged through his veins all the way until the jet landed on the runway. Angela stood alone to meet the returning strike team with a clipboard clutched to her chest and her hair falling all out of place. Genji had reached out to tuck the stray strands back into place, and Angela had offered her gratitude in a grateful, tired smile, but she’d been no less apologetic-yet-firm when she explained the necessity of sending him out on a solo mission one more time. He’d been afforded the tiniest sliver of time for a shower and a quick tune-up by one of Torbjörn's assistants, and then he’d been sent off packing halfway across the world again.

He didn’t mind it so much at first, because he knew Zenyatta, his husband— and that had been a new, recent development, the omnic was his _husband_ , he could call Zenyatta his _husband_ now— his husband had been sent out on a long-term mission even before Genji had been briefed about the one he’d just returned from. Genji had wondered, idly, before the gravity of his loneliness had sunk in, what he’d do to occupy his time now that he could no longer schedule nice, long cuddles-turned-naps into his days, but with the excitement of the upcoming infiltration mission looming before him, he was sufficiently satisfied with the novelty of things filling the too-much time he thought he’d had.

He returned from the second mission with all his (remaining) body parts intact, but about three pints less blood than he’d had to begin with. After his aching, bruised body was roughly patched up with the little time Dr. Ziegler could afford him, he was immediately sent off for the third mission. And that’s when he realised how wrong his careless judgement had been. He was tired, he made stupid mistakes, he almost died way too many times and most of all, _he really missed Zen_.

Upon his return from the third mission, he found himself making a dramatic statement as if to prove that they really shouldn’t send him on a fourth.

Standing at the edge of the hovering jet, one hand clutching at the frame of his autopiloted plane just to jeep him upright, Genji looked out and saw Angela, standing alone once again. She looked even more tired than ever and had _two_ clipboards in hand now. Then he looked at the ground, and gauged that the jump would be one that most mortal men wouldn’t dare to attempt, but one that his enhanced body could easily handle. For some reason, the ground seemed to be getting closer, but the jet was definitely set to hover, at least last time he’d checked.

And then he looked back at Angela. Or, at least, he _tried_ , but suddenly the plane felt like it was lurching and there were black spots spreading like inkblots in his vision.

And _then_ he realised he was blacking out.

 

 

 

 

 

When he wakes up, his first hope is that Zenyatta will be dozing in the room, lulled to sleep by the wait for him to wake. His second hope is that his husband isn’t worried out of his wits. His third hope is that they can both fit onto the bed for a nice welcome-home cuddle.

He opens his eyes, and Hanzo’s grumpy face shatters the illusion immediately.

‘I see you’ve decided to rejoin us in the world of the living,’ his brother grumbles, setting his bow aside even though he’d been in the process of restringing it.

Genji grins. Well, he tries to, at any rate. It’s through a fresh burst of pain in his skull that he croaks out, ‘Third time’s the charm.’

Hanzo sighs. ‘I only killed you once. Who got the better of you the second time?’

‘Hey! You’re not the better brother.’ Hanzo rolls his eyes, and even Genji’s surprised at how easy it is for him to continue, ‘Blackwatch mission. Tried to deflect a missile by charging into it and didn’t really care if I lived or died.’

Hanzo picks up his bow and starts restringing it again. It’s one of his most obvious anger tells.

Genji gulps. ‘So. Uhh. How many times did I actually die?’

His brother’s voice is wound more tightly than his bowstring when he replies, ‘Five.’

‘Oh. So it’s, uh, seventh time’s the—’

‘Dr. Ziegler almost started looking into the procedure Moira O’Deorain used to revive Gabriel Reyes. Almost.’

Genji falls silent, watching Hanzo test the tension in the bowstring until it’s exactly the right amount of give he likes. Then he gets up from the chair he’s been sitting in and scoops up a sleeping bag lying by the door.

‘You were lucky,’ Hanzo says evenly, without looking behind his shoulder, as he turns the doorknob and exits the room.

_Don’t ever do this to me again_ , is the silent message shared between them.

 

 

 

 

 

The only good thing that comes out of this is that Zenyatta gets recalled a week early, and it just so happens that the day after he arrives coincides with Valentine’s. But that’s still three whole days away.

Meanwhile, Genji mopes, sick of being coddled by everyone. Whatever magic juice is in Mercy’s staff fixes him right back up in no time, but both the doctor and the technicians insist on running daily tests on his basic motor functions before he’s allowed to step out of the infirmary.

Angela shoots him the dirtiest look he’s ever seen her give anyone when she finally strips off her latex gloves and says, ‘You’re discharged.’

‘I owe you one again, Dr. Ziegler!’ Genji chirps. They have only _one_ practicing physician in their midst, and he doesn’t want to be the one who finds out exactly how seriously she takes the Hippocratic Oath.

She waves him off. ‘You owe me _five_. Dismissed. Unless,’ and here she raises an eyebrow pointedly, ‘you would like to help me with the paperwork?’

‘You did say that I should rest,’ Genji reminds her with what he hopes is a charming smile.

Angela snorts. ‘Just go. I’ll handle it. Like always.’

He spends his first day feeling decidedly sorry for himself, demolishing the packets of _taiyaki_ ice-cream that Hanzo had thoughtfully stocked up in his mini-fridge. After he and Zenyatta had been formally married, Overwatch moved them into a shared room with a single king-sized bed. If the room also happened to come with additional soundproofing, well— No snarky comments needed, thank you very much. Whenever he’d thought about their life in this room, it was always _together_ , and when they were together they filled the space perfectly and breathed life into a place that Genji could now envision happily growing old in.

But now, he thinks dejectedly, the bed is far too large.

On the second day, he’s so bored and lonely that he ends up scrolling through his old social media. It only makes him lonelier when he sees all the normal couples leading their normal lives _together_ while Genji has to wait a whole forty hours more to see his beloved. He wants to lean on Zenyatta while they play video games together, he wants to go up to an open mic event at some bar and sing a cheesy love song just for his husband ( _his husband!)_ , he wants to plan picnics and road trips and camping trips and—

Genji blinks, staring into space. Oh, wait. He can.

 

 

 

 

 

Zenyatta doesn’t think he’s ever been more relieved to see Genji in one piece.

‘Genji,’ he murmurs in a daze, almost reverently, then quickly inclines his head in Dr. Ziegler’s direction. In response, she rolls her eyes, but there’s fondness in her smile when she releases her vice grip on Genji’s shoulder so that Zenyatta’s husband can sprint across the hangar to envelop him in a crushing hug.

Zenyatta feels his vents opening to release a tiny puff of built-up steam. _Husband_. He’d hardly thought it possible, and yet—

‘Welcome home!’ Genji says excitedly.

A robotic, ‘I’m back,’ is the most he can manage in his current state, and if he’s being perfectly honest with himself, he’s not clinging onto Genji _entirely_ because he misses him that much. The mission’s taken its toll on him (not to mention the absolute mess he’d dissolved into when someone had thought to mention, as casual as humanly possible, _oh yeah your husband might have kinda died five times yesterday, do you wanna go back first?_ ), and he doesn’t have much energy to load up the voicebank for most of his emotional range.

The barest flicker of hurt passes across Genji’s eyes before it’s replaced with understanding. ‘I’ve got you,’ he murmurs, and Zenyatta holds Genji tight when his visual sensors start to fail. His gyroscope indicates that his husband has picked him up and is carrying him bridal style.

‘Thank you,’ is the last thing he emits before entering a nice, deep hibernation.

 

 

 

 

 

He wakes up to find Genji wrapped all around him in an octopus-like assortment of limbs. His freshly-booted memory helpfully supplies that he’d likely been carried to bed, and judging by the angle of the sun’s streaks against the wall, they’ve probably slept in til late morning.

In a strange kind of morning meditation, Zenyatta observes his husband’s sleeping face. He’s always had a fascination with the scars criss-crossing Genji’s handsome features, no matter how much Genji insists that they’ve marred his “perfect face”. Zenyatta likes to point out that _he_ thinks that Genji’s face is perfect no matter what, and he’s perfectly content to repeat it until it gets through his husband’s thick skull.

His vents open to let out a tiny whistle of steam again. _Husband_. He really needs to get used to that.

Genji’s face twitches in response to the sound, and, with the same fascination, Zenyatta watches him come awake.

‘Good morning,’ he murmurs, low and with a hint of mischief, just the way Genji likes to hear it when he’s half-asleep.

‘Morning,’ is the muffled, sleepy salutation he gets in reply.

One of the best parts of being an omnic, Zenyatta thinks, is the lack of morning breath. He presses his face to Genji’s lips, and Genji’s eyes immediately fly open.

Then, abruptly, Genji pulls away and frantically looks around. ‘What time is it?’

Zenyatta can’t deny the strange pang going on in his chest at what feels like a clear rejection, but he’s prompt when he replies, ‘It’s eleven twenty-four.’

‘Fuck,’ Genji curses, leaping out of bed. Without his husband’s warmth wrapped tight around him, the mid-February chill hits Zenyatta like an avalanche through their open window. Never one to jump to conclusions, Zenyatta watches, patient, as his husband attempts to put one long leg through the armhole of a long-sleeved shirt.

‘The chair,’ Zenyatta murmurs, amused, and it’s with muffled thanks that Genji hops over to the computer table to scoop up his pants where they’re haphazardly thrown across the back of the rolling chair.

Taking his cue from the strangely tight-lipped Genji, Zenyatta peels himself off the duvet and changes into a fresh set of clothes. He’s in the midst of folding his gunpowder-covered pants to make life easier for the cleaning department during their laundry collection rounds when he vaguely registers an insistent tap on his shoulder.

‘Yes?’ he asks absentmindedly. He really should go get his shoulder checked out, it’s been acting up ever since he got clipped in the shoulder by a shotgun blast during that terribly long mission.

‘I’m gonna take a quick walk,’ is the somewhat strained reply he gets from Genji, but before he can turn around and ask what’s wrong, there’s the hydraulic hiss of their door opening and cold air where his husband once was.

Zenyatta hums, contemplative. How strange.

 

 

 

 

 

When Genji returns to their shared room, feeling somewhat fresher and a little less stressed after a quick stroll through the compound, Zenyatta is no longer there.

His heart sinks. As if everything wasn’t _already_ going to absolute shit. He’d taken the time and effort to plan out the perfect Valentine’s date, only to wake up _way too late_ to catch the sunrise. There’s no way they’ll be able to get Zenyatta’s favourite window seat at his favourite café, not during the peak lunch hours of _Valentine’s_ , of all days, and by now all the good seats for the premiere viewing of the Big Popular Action Movie are definitely gone.

Great. Just great.

But it’s not cause for panic— Not yet, at any rate— so Genji takes a deep breath, just like Zenyatta had taught him during what-felt-like lifetimes ago. He brushes his teeth, splashes water on his face, studies his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His scars stare back at him, ugly little mountains and valleys slashed across skin that was once smooth-and-perfect. They look like ants, really, dead ants forever stitched into the layer just-under his skin. He’d scratch them out if he could, but they just keep growing back, like parasites intent on consuming his entirety until he can’t recognise the _thing_ looking back at him. It’s disgusting.

But Zenyatta always reminds him that he’s beautiful. That he finds him special, that his scars sing the ballads of adventures and liberation. That his scars make him special, that he wouldn’t want him any other way.

Genji wants this date to be _special_.

Maybe today he’ll go without the faceplate.

 

 

 

 

 

When he does find Zenyatta, it’s with _Torbjörn_ of all people.

‘—can’t say much about what happened,’ he hears Zenyatta say apologetically, and Torbjörn snorts in reply.

‘Just stop talking, will ya? Doesn’t matter what happened, I can fix it. And I’d rather fix a hunk o’ junk than an _omnic_. Easier to concentrate without having to hate ya while I’m patching you up.’

‘As you wish,’ is Zenyatta’s unruffled— if anything, it’s _amused_ — reply.

Genji rounds the corner and stops in his tracks.

He can’t resist the urge to quip, ‘Need a hand?’

Zenyatta flares his lights in a silent, muted greeting.

Torbjörn chuckles and waves Zenyatta’s detached arm around flippantly. ‘Gimme an hour, two _tops_ , and this beautiful piece of machinery’s gonna be brand new. Oiled and tuned and all that good stuff.’

More time wasted. Genji tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest when he lightly asks, ‘So what’s wrong with him, doc?’

‘Severed cables,’ Torbjörn pronounces, turning back to his workbench and squinting down at the arm in his hands. ‘Usually I can do a nice, easy tune-up and any of my babies would be good to go, but for this guy, whoever made him put his nerve bundles somewhere pretty deep, so I’m gonna have to open ‘er up and reconstruct the entire thing. A bit like a C-section.’

Genji doesn’t want to know why Torbjörn knows about C-sections. ‘I’m surprised you’re working today,’ he says instead.

Torbjörn grunts and makes a short gesture to a pretty pink card pinned to the corkboard above his workbench. Genji follows the gesture and stares at the Valentine’s card, signed off by Ingrid.

‘Your wife?’

‘You know, when I built you a better body, I didn’t realise it’d downgrade yer _brain_ ,’ Torbjörn snaps.

Zenyatta’s remaining arm twitches, like he’s trying not to laugh.

‘I’ll come back later,’ Genji mumbles, resigned.

He doesn’t feel the thoughtful gaze burning into his back when Zenyatta watches him go.

 

 

 

 

 

When he returns precisely one hour later, Genji is relieved to find his husband sporting two arms.

Zenyatta clenches and unclenches his fist experimentally, watching the pistons and valves move with the same reverence with which he watches Genji’s own sinew-against-bone. There’s something alluring about the action, the perfect motion of those large, surprisingly warm hands that Genji knows so well—

‘Everything good to go?’ is Torbjörn’s voice breaking through his reverie.

Genji knows that Zenyatta is using his best robot voice when he replies, ‘Affirmative. System check concluded. Analysis: no anomalies detected. System operational.’

Torbjörn _smiles_. ‘Now yer talking. I just gotta run _one_ more test and you can skedaddle right on outta here.’

‘Affirmative. Awaiting operation.’

Without looking behind his shoulder, Torbjörn calls out, ‘Boy, come here.’

‘I’m _thirty-five_ ,’ Genji grumbles, but he does as he’s told. He stands right over the yellow tape marked in a cross on the floor, one of the many Torbjörn has scattered all over his workshop, and relaxes every muscle in his body.

‘Even your butt,’ Torbjörn adds, snickering. ‘ _Especially_ your butt.’

Genji rolls his eyes but complies.

‘Not bad— for a human. Now, Zenyatta—’ and here Genji has to wonder, is this the first time Torbjörn’s used his husband’s name? — ‘Shoot him in the face, if yer please.’

There is (thankfully) a long pause.

‘Excuse me?’ Zenyatta asks, slow but polite.

Torbjörn’s wearing a wicked grin. ‘You heard me. I gotta check your aim calibrations.’

‘My aim is fine.’ Oh, there’s Zenyatta’s angry voice. It’s still calm, still melodic, but just the very-slightest-bit clipped because he’s not exactly in the right frame of mind to restrict his emotional range. ‘Perhaps we could skip this final check?’ It’s not a question— Not really, at any rate.

Torbjörn only shrugs and turns back to his bench. ‘Fine by me. It’s your neck yer sticking out on the battlefield, not mine.’

Zenyatta drifts up from the seat he’s been obediently perched on for the past hour-or-so. He storms forward (which means he moves just the ever-slightest bit faster) and grabs Genji’s hand.

‘Let’s go,’ he says, warm and gentle when he looks into Genji’s unmasked face.

 

 

 

 

 

They barely make it out of the innermost bowels of the heavily-fortified compound before they run into Fareeha.

‘A moment, please,’ she says curtly, holding out one arm to block their way.

Genji smiles, because it’s either that or curling up in a ball and _crying_. ‘Yeah?’

But she’s not looking at him, she’s looking at Zen. ‘You ended the mission early, correct?’

‘Regrettably, yes. But I believe the situation called for it. I’m sure you understand.’ As far as Genji knows, Zenyatta and Fareeha are on civil terms— more because they’d never had the chance to really interact rather than because they didn’t get along. Still, Zenyatta’s sounding awful familiar for someone he’s on _civil terms_ with. The whole time they were walking down the hallways of the Overwatch compound, Zenyatta had barely breathed a single _word_ to Genji. The silence had built until the fog became too thick for Genji to even think about cutting through, and so he’d remained in sullen silence.

Fareeha nods and relaxes, just a fraction. ‘Alright. And you’ll handle the paperwork?’

‘I always do,’ Zenyatta assures, and now there’s a self-satisfied release in the tension coiled within his spine. ‘How is the doctor, if I may?’

Fareeha closes her eyes. She looks tired. They all do. ‘Angela hasn’t eaten or slept in three days. All she’s had is coffee, coffee, coffee—’ Her voice rises in a red swell, the undertone of anger. ‘I told her to take care of herself first. I told—’

Before Fareeha’s temper can break in the sharp _snap_ of her frustration, Zenyatta hums understandingly, defusing the ticking time bomb with his own golden blanket of comfort. ‘Would you like us to swing by her office? I’m sure Genji here can convince her to take some lunch. It’s the least we could do, especially after…’

Genji doesn’t pay attention to the way Zenyatta falters. Instead, all he hears is _more delay_ and _less time_ and _no more date_ and the worst of it all is that Zenyatta’s the one who’s giving their time away like candy on Halloween, like he _doesn’t care about spending time with him at all_.

‘Yeah,’ Genji feels himself say, hollowly. ‘I owe her a great debt. Five great debts. We’ll go. Do that.’

Fareeha’s gaze flicks over to meet Zenyatta’s, and they seem to have a split-second silent exchange that ends in perfect understanding.

Genji wonders, humourlessly, if Angela would be willing to take a look at the sudden acute pain in his chest.

 

 

 

 

 

‘Later,’ is the tired exclamation they get out of Angela the moment they step through the door to her office. Usually her words would be sharper, more snake-like irritation and less of a muddy landslide, but going by the towers (plural!) of mugs stacked by her table, mud-shit coffee might really be the only thing holding her up right now.

Wordlessly, Zenyatta sends an orb of harmony over to the poor overworked doctor. Her stomach growls, loud and demanding, almost immediately.

‘I heard that you haven’t been taking proper care of yourself,’ Zenyatta admonishes gently. ‘We brought some food from the canteen. And I believe Fareeha is digging into her emergency stash of Swiss chocolates as we speak.’

Genji sets the tray of grub down carefully. Zenyatta had stood in front of the lunch ladies and considered the selection for a good minute or so before issuing crisp, precise orders for exactly how much of everything he wanted on the tray. On went a giant dollop of piping hot oats, then a perfectly-rectangular slab of Chinese minced meat, then a cup of double-boiled carrot and potato stew.

Angela eyes the tray bearing Zenyatta’s lovingly-selected meal for the briefest of moments before caving and reaching for the utensils in Genji’s hand. Her grip is still strong when she pulls the fork and spoon out of his grasp. The warrior within him admires her for it.

‘I’ll handle my paperwork later,’ Zenyatta promises, his orbs rotating behind him in a large, contemplative circle.

Angela swallows her mouthful of oats. ‘Do you think you could handle Genji’s too?’

Zenyatta laughs and agrees. ‘Yes. I believe I’ve read enough of your medical reports to write one of my own. Should I forge your signature as well?’

That gets a laugh out of Angela. Shoulders shaking, she begins to relax, the tension going out of her ramrod-straight back.

Later, when Fareeha bursts through the door, Swiss chocolates wrapped in a pretty pink paper pouch, Angela is dozing on her desk with Zenyatta’s golden light shining over her. The tray has been picked clean.

Fareeha takes this all in with a single glance. ‘Thank you,’ she says, nodding at them both. The bag of chocolates hangs loosely from her hand.

With a pang, Genji wonders if he’s getting _anything_ this year.

 

 

 

 

 

‘You’ve been very quiet,’ Zenyatta observes.

It’s just the two of them, strolling through the winding corridors of the compound. They’re about a hundred metres from the exit, from sweet, _sweet_ freedom.

Genji smiles half-heartedly. ‘I’m just a bit tired.’

Fifty metres.

Immediately, Zenyatta sends an orb of harmony his way. The knot in his stomach untangles, just a little. But the sunny warmth that usually follows is conspicuously absent, and now he just kinda feels a little empty inside.

Thirty metres.

Zenyatta reaches for Genji’s hand. ‘What’s wrong, Genji?’

Ten metres—

And _of course_ his cursed brother has to turn the corner and make a beeline straight for them.

‘Zenyatta,’ Hanzo calls, and Genji flinches, pulling away from Zenyatta’s tentative grasp. It hurts when Zenyatta hesitates, then retracts his hand to his side instead of reaching out again.

‘Greetings,’ Zenyatta replies.

‘I’m sorry to trouble you,’ Hanzo says apologetically, completely ignoring his brother’s presence, ‘but do you have any updates on Jesse?’

Zenyatta’s orbs ripple in surprise. ‘Hm. Nothing particularly alarming. Commander Amari has been dropping in over the course of our mission and happily shooting us whenever we need it. If anything, Jesse might be having a little _too_ much fun.’ His orbs slow their careful orbit. ‘Though now that you mention it, I am a tad bit worried about the strike team operating without a healer in their ranks.’

Hanzo’s frowning. ‘Will you request a transfer back into the field?’

‘Perhaps, if it’s not too much to—’

‘Oh,’ Genji says coldly, ‘so eager to leave already?’

_That_ gets both of their attention immediately.

Genji closes his eyes and waves it away. ‘Nevermind, sorry, it’s been a long—’

‘Our comrades could be dead,’ Hanzo shoots back just-as-coldly, ‘and you want to _sulk_?’

All Genji hears is the blood roaring in his ears. ‘ _I_ could be dead,’ he snaps. ‘You try dying five times and see what it does to you.’

Zenyatta goes still.

‘Get your head out of your ass!’ Hanzo all-but-yells. ‘ _Who_ worked for days, literal _days,_ to save your life? _Who_ sat in that room and had to stay calm and call the doctor when your heart went flat once every hour? _Who_ immediately chartered a jet back to come see you once he thought you were _dead_? We are _all_ suffering, brother, and your childishness is only tiring us further!’

The truth stings, but before Genji can say something he knows he’ll regret, Zenyatta cuts in with his soothing, gentle voice.

‘Everyone is rather high-strung these days,’ he points out amicably. ‘But there is no need to fight. I understand your concern for Jesse, Hanzo, but perhaps you could explore a different avenue to vent it? You too,’ he adds, shooting a quick glance at Genji.

The brothers glare at each other a final time before stalking off in different directions.

Zenyatta sighs. Then he quickly chases after Genji.

 

 

 

 

 

Miraculously, Zenyatta finds them a cosy seat at their nearby Starbucks and gets a venti-sized sugary monstrosity to Genji in record time.

‘Talk to me,’ Zenyatta says simply, and that’s all it takes for Genji to _break_.

He looks down at his coffee, averting his eyes from Zenyatta’s piercing gaze, and numbly admits, ‘I wanted to spend Valentine’s with you.’

‘Are we not?’ Zenyatta replies delicately. A young teenage couple giggles somewhere in the background, but Zenyatta’s attention does not waver.

‘Not…’ Genji sighs. ‘Not like this.’

Zenyatta remains quiet. It means that he’s waiting for Genji to elaborate.

‘I… After the whole _dying_ scare, and the whole _I haven’t seen you in a month_ thing, and the _four missions in a row_ mess, I just wanted a day to relax with my husband.’ The word rests light on his traitorous tongue. ‘And it’s our Valentine’s as, well, _husbands_ , so I wanted it to be, y’know, _big_. And special.’

‘Oh, Genji,’ Zenyatta murmurs, fond. ‘Every day with you is special to me.’

Genji shakes his head slowly. ‘Not like that. I wanted— I wanted to make you feel the way you make me feel. Does that make sense? Probably not—’

‘Genji,’ Zenyatta says deliberately, ‘I think there’s been a misunderstanding.’

Genji finally looks up.

Zenyatta continues, ‘After your “whole _dying_ scare”, I thought that having you here, safe, _alive_ with me was more than enough for my Valentine’s. I didn’t realise you wanted a proper celebration— Frankly, I didn’t know if either of us really had the energy for it, especially after the slew of missions we’ve had recently. I assumed wrongly. I’m sorry.’

Genji’s starting to feel rather foolish. A tangled, complicated curl of embarrassment-and-guilt uncoils in his chest, suddenly much lighter now that they’ve both brought their feelings to light. ‘Me too,’ he mumbles, taking a sip of his drink. The sweet tartness of strawberry syrup hits his taste buds like a refreshing whirlpool, and the sugar-richness of thick vanilla, almost cake-like, soon follows. It’s not exactly a strawberry shortcake, but, well— They can make do. They always do.

Zenyatta reaches over, and Genji almost eagerly takes his proffered hand.

‘I love you,’ Zenyatta promises.

‘I love you too,’ Genji vows back.

Zenyatta chuckles. ‘Besides, the day is far from over. What did you have on that grand Valentine’s date checklist again?’

 

 

 

 

 

In the lull between lunch and teatime, they slip into Zenyatta’s favourite café and find it barely humming with activity. Zenyatta slips into his favourite seat by the glass, but he doesn’t people-watch, not today. The only person he watches is Genji, who somehow manages to get the cream from his strawberry shortcake on the tip of his nose.

Zenyatta laughs, and swipes it off for him.

They stroll through the malls, idly window-shopping— even stopping by a tattoo parlour and lamenting their unfortunate corporate-imposed ban on rings.

‘Perhaps a tattoo will suffice?’ Zenyatta muses. ‘I’m sure Torbjörn will be able to give me a band easily as well.’

They duck into an arcade and find, with no small, vicious amount of satisfaction, that Zenyatta’s aim is perfect after all, Torbjörn’s _calibration tests_ be damned.

Zenyatta buys a giant Bastion plushie with their winnings, and later Torbjörn will find himself forever haunted by the thing.

Then, en route to the cinemas, Zenyatta taps Genji on the shoulder and he stops, looking at the sky where Zenyatta is pointing. The clouds are brilliant orange-and-amber, the skies red with twilight, and the sun a burning, golden-yellow half-moon against the red ocean.

‘Beautiful,’ Genji hears himself mumbling.

‘Yes,’ Zenyatta agrees, star-struck, watching the emotions dancing across Genji’s so-rarely unmasked face. ‘You are.’

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

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>  
> 
> [commission post](https://twitter.com/_antikytheras/status/950373796770234375)


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